A Visit to the Creepy House Down the Street
by alphanocten
Summary: I wrote this story back in 7th grade, on November 2nd, 2006. I went all the way with a crack plot where the inevitable overpowered OC, Will Parry, Alex Rider, Artemis Fowl, the Harry Potter trio, and the Narnia kids go to a haunted house. And so I fell in love with writing.


Disclaimer: None of these characters of mine except for Claire. The Mushroom, The Bacon Folder, and The Mutant Can of Sprite are the property of CRT.

One dark Halloween night, after trick-or-treating, a considerably large group of teenagers and a couple adults were heading down Sutherland Avenue in Oxford, England.

"Are you sure it's this way, Will?" said a raven-haired girl named Claire to a serious-looking thirteen year-old cradling a large black cat in his arms.

"I'm sure it is," responded Will Parry, "It's supposedly right between the hornbeam trees."

They continued down the lonely road, bright red-orange leaves swirling around the countless bare trees and the bite of the autumn chill on their faces.

"I see it!" exclaimed a flawlessly perfect sixteen-year-old named Alex Rider, ironically costumed as a MI6 Special Operations agent. "The Creepy House Down the Street!"

"Of course you see it," sighed an unbelievably pale youth dressed in a designer suit and overshadowed by a massive seven-foot-tall bodyguard. "You are the poster boy for Mary-Sue characters and you are the 'masterpiece' creation of Anthony Horowitz. Therefore you are obliged to take all the credit from _real_ fictional characters that have to actually suffer."

"I'm sure I could beat you in a fistfight, Artemis Fowl," retorted Alex with a flip of his blond hair. "_And_ you have a girly name."

"It's NOT really girly! It means _the hunter_—"

"Stop it, you idiots," said a familiar bushy-haired girl in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry robes, "We're here."

The group stood outside of the extremely old, dilapidated house. Many of the windows were broken; the wooden siding was blackened with age, and the door was ajar and barely attached to its hinges. "Tell me again, why are we here, because I have a bad feeling about this," commented Holly Short, a three-foot-tall elf, as she charged her Neutrino 2000 blaster.

Will answered nonchalantly, "This place is legendary, there are unknown dangers lurking inside. In addition, no one has ever come out alive."

"Well, can't we just take a bus to London, play some football, and have tea and crumpets with the Queen instead?" suggested Peter Pevensie the Narnian.

"No. In fact…never."

They reluctantly scuffled into the main hall but they were immediately hit with excruciatingly loud music by The Fray. "Everyone down!" yelled Peter as he and the rest hit the ground, covering their ears. The only one who seemed undisturbed by the Emo music was Will, who stood impatiently with his cat dæmon Kirjava, tapping his foot. Looking up, Claire noticed bright red drops of blood trickle down from his newly cut wrists.

The seemingly endless tune of "How to Save a Life" finally stopped and everyone stood up, groggy and disoriented by the deafening noise. "Let's play hide-and-seek!" suggested a hyper Lucy, Peter's youngest sister.

Peter rubbed his eyes. "Sorry Lu, I'm not feeling too well right now."

"But, Peter!" whined Lucy with tears in her disproportionately large brown eyes.

Susan, dressed as a Goth, knelt down and comforted her little sibling. "Don't worry Lu, we'll all play with you."

Lucy sniffled loudly and said, "Okay, I'll be the seeker." Then she faced a wall, covered her eyes and started to count. Meanwhile, everyone ran to different parts of the strange house.

Alex Rider merely procured a special, state-of-the-art MI6 grappling hook and pulled himself towards the ceiling and hid in the rafters. But suddenly, a slimy, pale hand shot out and grabbed his arm, filthy fingernails digging into his skin. Alex nearly let go of the wooden beam he was hanging on, and watched in horror as a woman with long, tangled black hair, and wide-open, bloodshot eyes climbed out and clutched his neck. He could feel his heart rate rise dramatically and hear his breath go in and out with short gasps. She hissed and spoke in Japanese which, for some unknown reason, Alex understood. "_We of the Creepy House down the Street have been waiting for this moment for ages_," she spat, "_We have waited for revenge over silly little heroes like you!_"

"You're the Grudge, aren't you?" asked Not-So-Secret Agent Rider in his light British accent.

"_Yes indeed, Rider. Many others reside in this house too, like The Fray, which you have already met, Samara from _The Ring_, James Blunt, the Bacon Folder, and the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe._"

Alex shuddered and started to worry about his friends, even Artemis the stuck-up Irish lad. "Well then, take this!" he rasped and he pulled out a gun and shot the Grudge off of the ceiling. They fell to the cracked wooden floors, the Grudge screeching and disappearing in midair, and Alex landed, crouching on the ground to break his fall. He stood up surveying his surroundings and started to clean his arm wound, now caked in dried blood.

In the kitchen, Will Parry, the official Emo and second protagonist from the _His Dark Materials_ trilogy, became rather thirsty looking for a hiding place and opened the refrigerator to find a drink. Inside, he found a lone can of Sprite. His dæmon familiar, Kirjava, hissed loudly in warning.

"What is it?" asked Will.

Kirjava spoke, "That can of Sprite doesn't look too good. Don't drink it."

"Why not?" said Will, the determination to quench his thirst flashing in his eyes. He took it out, closed the door, and started to open it. As he heard the top snap open, he vividly remembered the good old days in Cittágazze when he was still with his true love, Lyra. Just as Will lifted his hand to wipe away a tear, the can started fizzing madly with hydrochloric acid, so Will immediately dropped it. On the ground, the mutant can righted itself and started to grow enormous, spewing acid everywhere in sight. Startled, Will opened a drawer and pulled out a large, stainless steel knife to defend himself with. The mutant can inched closer, burning his skin and cutting open the wound where two of his fingers used to be, causing copious amounts of blood to rush out. He cried out in pain, clutching his mutilated hand. So, Will forced himself to stand and he slashed, left, right, left, tearing long jagged gashes across the can's aluminum surface. The can then stopped and twitched, spilling gallons of acid on the tile floor, and exploded into a thousand miniscule pieces, soaking Will and Kirjava in the process. He staggered upright, eyes burning, and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. _All in a day's work_, he mused as he attempted to dry off.

In the main hall, Lucy finished counting. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" she called. There was no response. Subsequently, Lucy started looking around, not noticing Alex Rider leaning on a wall, and went into a room with an antique 1940's television set. She carefully perched on a torn up, but comfortable sofa. Then, the outdated machine switched on and a black and white video started playing. Lucy watched, spellbound, as she saw a girl with long, stringy hair completely covering her face, climb out of a well and stride towards her, one arm outstretched.

Susan burst out of the wardrobe she was hiding in, grabbed Lucy, and loosed an arrow just as the mysterious girl stepped out of the screen. "Lucy!" Susan scolded. "That was Samara, The Ring girl! You should know better than to be caught by her!" Susan dragged a struggling Lucy out to the main hall, stull surveyed by Alex Rider.

Lucy wriggled out of her Goth sister's hold and exclaimed, "I found you!" Then she stared innocently into Susan's black eyeliner-rimmed eyes and asked, "Will you go help me find the others?"

"Sure, why not?" said Susan. So, they started calling everyone's names.

"Peter! Will! Harry! Ron! Alex! Claire! Holly! Hermione! Arty!"

Elsewhere, the Irish boy genius, Artemis Fowl, searched thoroughly for a decent hiding place, as he heard his name being called.

_Don't call me Arty_, he thought. _My father calls me Arty_ [credit to Eoin Colfer for this line].

Currently, he was confident that he could hide without his massive bodyguard, Butler, and so he stepped down into the basement, feeling the sting of the cold. He walked on and found an ornate, gold plated trunk, just his size, and opened it. Out of the trunk appeared a strange man in all black, wearing a strangely happy, clown-like, V mask from _V for Vendetta_ and the signature black fedora. In his right hand, he held a 3-foot-long blood-stained chainsaw, and in his left he had a single brass key.

Artemis analyzed the situation. There was a dangerous man in front of him who will probably force him to swallow the key and will cut him open with the chainsaw. _This is not looking good_, he thought, _Where's Holly Short when you need her?_ In a split second, Artemis formulated a plan; he decided to make a run for it. The V/_Saw_ guy hybrid followed closely behind, nearly decapitating Artemis as he leaped over rotting crates. Then, a laser shot came out of the darkness behind him that hit his pursuer squarely in the back of the head. Artemis found Holly grinning behind him. "Need a lift, Mud Boy?" Artemis nodded and Holly flew him to the main hall, meeting up with the rest of the escapees.

Upstairs, Claire was in one of the bedrooms examining an ornate mirror. She got bored quickly and sat back lazily on the moth-eaten sheets. Suddenly, glowing Gnommish symbols lit up the silvered glass. Claire, as the Keeper of the Book that sustains all fiction novels, understood it and read it out loud.

_A young Keeper, all alone,_

_Walks these hallowed halls at night, _

_Unknowing that her comrades are in danger._

_Many battles have been fought,_

_This war is coming to an end. _

_Will she be able to save them?_

_Or is it too late?_

Claire muttered, "I hate prophecies," as a foggy shadow enveloped her and the Bacon Folder appeared, spinning in front of her. It was a plain red paper folder with the tagline, "What Would Bacon Do?" and a spinner on the front with a flat plastic piece of bacon taking the place of the usual arrow. "Will you serve me?" asked Claire. The piece of bacon stopped on a light-colored spot.

_Yes._

"Then, will I ever date Artemis Fowl?"

_Yes._

Claire contemplated this for a moment. "Shall I quit asking questions and go to the hall then?" The Folder gave a mixed response and started to attack her, spinning its Bacon Blade wildly. In annoyance, Claire switched on her orange lightsaber, quickly dispatched the Folder, and strode downstairs (to find Arty.)

In another random section of the house, Harry, Ron, and Hermione discovered the Mushroom, the Raven and the drunken ghost of Edgar Allan Poe.

"Greetings," quoth the Raven. "Nevermore."

_This was too much_, the trio thought in unison. So, they ran, with bloodcurdling screams, down the stairs to the hall and found the others waiting for them. But, they were still chased by the ghost of Poe, brandishing a broken whiskey bottle. Luckily, he was stopped by some quick thinking from Harry. "_Avada Kedavra!_" Amazingly, it worked even though Poe was already dead.

Finally, they were all gathered in the hall, ready to leave, Artemis Fowl with an arm around Claire.

"So, we all made it," said Peter.

"With minor injuries," said Alex, glancing at Will. "And with new perspectives on something called life," he added, motioning to a grinning Artemis.

But, they were the unfortunate victims of the final attack by James Blunt, which consisted of singing "You're Beautiful" in an endless loop. That caused the reluctant protagonists to fall into a deep sleep on the floor as they were mysteriously spirited away.

In the morning, the unruly adolescents awoke in the Oxford Botanic Garden, not far from the special bench that Will sat on every Midsummer's Day. They trudged out of the garden suffering from extreme fatigue and headed to where the Creepy House Down the Street stood. But they found nothing but a patch of dirt and a broken whiskey bottle.


End file.
